


Grasping at Water

by Sarcasticles



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Gen, The Revolutionary Army (One Piece)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticles/pseuds/Sarcasticles
Summary: Koala had gone on missions before, but never alone, and never with the stakes this high.Or, the story of how Koala got her bounty.
Relationships: Koala/Sabo (One Piece)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	1. Call to Arms

“Again!”

Koala grit her teeth, set her feet, and went through the motions of the kata. _Ready stance. Turn. Downward block. Step forward. Turn. Middle lunge punch…_

Each movement was fluid and graceful, power gathering from her feet through her hips, her uniform snapping crisply with each strike. Sweat poured down her face and stung her eyes, but Koala ignored it. Hack had been drilling her for hours, a relentless taskmaster. Anything less than perfection was unacceptable…

_Step forward. Front stance. Middle lunge punch…_

“Hack!”

Koala faltered as a Revolutionary came screaming into the room, breaking her concentration. Grumbling under his breath about unwanted interruptions and where he would like to shove them, Hack gave a quick motion to halt. While he took the runner’s message Koala wandered to the nearest wall and leaned against it, the concrete cool against her flaming skin.

“They found it?” Hack said, surprised.

“Yes!” the messenger said eagerly. “Dragon wants a ship sent as soon as possible.”

Despite her fatigue, Koala’s interest piqued. The Dragon she knew didn’t rush into anything. She inched closer, using the water bottles sitting just behind Hack as an excuse to eavesdrop. Neither Hack nor the messenger noticed; they were too busy whispering with their heads pressed together.

“If we could extract him…”

“It would be damnably difficult to get anyone close enough…”

“...has a plan…”

“Koala!”

She jumped as Hack’s head snapped in her direction. Apparently he’d been paying attention after all. “Yes?” she said in her most innocent, sing-song voice.

He didn’t buy it for a second. “I’m needed in the war room. Plan on taking over my classes for tomorrow—the little ones are still having difficulty with their kicking form.”

“Take over your classes?” Koala parroted. “For how long?”

Hack crumpled the paper in his hands, the grim expression on his face deepening. “As long as it takes.”

“I thought we were going to work through the Arabesque techniques again,” Koala protested.

“Another time,” Hack said.

“That’s what you said _last_ time,” Koala said. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for months. I think I’m close.”

Hack sighed, the fins around his chin waving as if carried by an invisible current. That meant Koala wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.

“Koala, you are a skilled practitioner of Fishman Karate. The most skilled human I’ve ever trained.”

“I sense that there’s a _but_ in here somewhere,” she mumbled.

“But you _are_ still human,” Hack said, not unkindly.

“I’m so close. I know it,” Koala said. She heard how whiny she sounded even to her own ears and hated it. Hated that it made her sound pathetic and spoiled. She drew herself as tall as her slight frame would allow her, muscles weak and rubbery with exhaustion.

Hack took another breath, his mustache twitching along with his fins. With a quiet word, the messenger took his leave, shutting the door to Baltago’s dojo as he did so. When he was gone, Hack sat cross legged on the floor and gestured for Koala to join her. She nearly refused, in a moment of petulance reveling in the fact that she was for once taller than him. The cool, rational side of her, the side disciplined by countless hours of rigid training, thankfully prevailed.

An even smaller part of her, the part that had spent her childhood obeying every order given to her under threat of death, relaxed. Even for something as small as this, Koala’s stomach shriveled at the thought of questioning any type of authority. 

“Close your eyes,” Hack said once she was seated. “Breathe as if you were meditating. Clear your mind.”

It was easier said than done. Koala was tired and irritable, and incorrigibly curious about the mission Hack had just been given. But she did as he said, her heart slowing from a wild gallop to a calmer trot against her ribcage. Her aches and pains faded away in the stillness of her mind.

“Good,” Hack said, his gentle murmur breaking through her thoughts like a dolphin skimming the surface of the sea. “What do you feel?”

“Nothing?” Koala said, unsure of what he was getting at. “And everything.”

“I feel the humidity of the air, the vapor that comes from your every breath,” Hack said. “I can sense the blood flowing in your veins and the pipes running under this building. I can feel the ocean. It speaks, and I understand.”

Koala strained to feel as he felt, but meditation didn’t work that way. The harder she fought the more unbalanced she became, the urgency of the mind warring with the peace her body required. After a moment she opened her eyes. Hack was looking down at her, unsurprised.

“Can all fishmen feel it?” Koala asked.

“No,” he said, stroking his chin. “But for most, once they understand the trick to it it’s as easy as breathing.”

“So teach me,” Koala said. “Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it. You know I will.”

Hack shook his head, each back and forth sending her stomach plummeting even further. “I can’t have you sit underwater for hours on end; none of my usual methods will work for you. I’m sorry, Koala. I don’t know how to help you any more than I already have.”

* * *

Koala wanted to punch something. Anything would do. She stalked the base looking for something to take her frustrations out on, and was in a decidedly foul mood when she found Sabo.

“Spar with me,” Koala said.

“Uh, now?”

His left arm was in a plaster cast, the result of a failed attempt at duplicating Dragon’s claw techniques. Koala knew it was in no way his fault, but the fact that he was allowed to try to learn dangerous advanced techniques while she was stuck teaching children basic kicks made her temper boil over.

“You know haki, don’t you?” Koala said. “You’re not going to break it worse.”

Sabo grinned. “Nah, I’ll just fight you one handed.”

“You’ll lose.”

“Try me.”

Half an hour later they were both thoroughly pummeled, and Koala was too tired to be angry. She half-listened to Sabo’s idle chatter as she toweled off in the facility’s locker rooms. For someone who fought so instinctively, he always liked talking through their matches once they were done, always trying to figure out what they had done well and what needed work.

Normally Koala enjoyed listening to him prattle on, but when she tried all she heard was Hack. She stared for a moment at the sweat dripping down her arms, tried to feel the flow of water. But whatever the trick was, she wasn’t going to figure it out now. She sighed.

“...you’re doing better compensating for your lack of reach, but there were times I thought you could have been more aggressive…Hey, are you even listening?”

“I wouldn’t need to get close if I were better at Fishman Karate.”

Sabo went still, a curious, intense look passing over his face. The edges of his burn pulled in as he squinted his eyes. “Is that what this is all about? Koala, you know you’re a great fighter, right? There aren’t very many people who could do this.”

He pointed to the lurid bruise blooming under his jaw. If anything, it made Koala feel even smaller. She’d lost control and failed to pull her punch in time. “You were fighting one handed.”

“The point stands.” 

“I’m never going to be as strong as you,” Koala said. A sharp look cut off his sputtered protests. “You know it’s true. It’s like you were born fighting; I’m trying to play catchup while you keep pulling ahead.”

She sat heavily at a bench, clutching her head in impotent frustration. It wasn’t enough. No matter how hard she tried, she was never good enough.

The thin material of her shirt chafed at her scar. Did Fisher Tiger know how heavy the burden he gave her was? Was this helplessness what he felt when he tried to use his freedom to help others? There was so much injustice and so few people fighting to fix it. The world needed people like Fisher, like Dragon and Sabo. People who could make a difference

Koala was acutely aware that Sabo was still staring at her. She wrenched the muscles of her mouth into an approximation of a smile. It was stupid of her, but she didn’t want him to worry. Didn’t want him to think she was weaker than she already was.

“We all hit roadblocks. Case and point” Sabo waved his casted arm for her to see. He beamed, his enthusiasm contagious. Koala felt her smile thaw into something more genuine. “Whatever it is that’s got you stumped, just keep working at it. You’ll get it eventually.”

“And if I don’t?” Koala asked.

Sabo shrugged. “Then you’re still a kickass fighter who’s better at infiltration than I am. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be sneaky when your face is plastered on half the world’s bounty posters?”

“Now you’re the one reaching,” Koala said with an amused snort. She let out a long, cleansing breath and stretched her arms to the ceiling, her muscle’s protesting after such an intense workout. She’d need to do a few cooldown exercises or she’d be in trouble tomorrow. Nothing like being too sore to teach the little orphans taken in by the Revolution how to properly kick someone in the balls. “You love having a bounty.”

“I do,” Sabo agreed, “but I can also admit it’s kind of a pain in the ass. You’re smart not to be caught on camera yet.”

“If you say so.” Koala stood in a long, catlike stretch, before standing on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek, right beside his bruise. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for letting me hit you.”

“I didn’t _let_ you do anything.” But he was smiling, and Koala was smiling, and she felt better than she had all day.

And for now, that’s all that mattered.

* * *

She was going over reports when Hack found her, sitting in a field full of snails that made up the bulk of Baltago’s communication office. Coded messages from all over the world came over by fax or were transcribed by the Revolution’s communication specialists. Each one had to be tagged by geography and alert level, then filed to the correct departments to be delivered in a timely manner. In theory the system of bureaucracy was a well-oiled machine, getting sensitive information from Point A to Point B with the expediency and reliability of a clock ticking invariably onward in an eternal cycle.

In reality, it was a nightmare.

The work flustered most at first and usually frustrated the rest by the time their first shift was complete. But Koala felt most at home in the organized chaos. Papers were constantly coming in and their contents decoded. Snails had to be fed and cared for. Someone had to decide if a report was urgent, expedient, or routine.

There was no time for the mind to wander and Koala’s hands were always busy, and that’s how she liked it. She’d had the importance of hard work beaten into too thoroughly to ever feel comfortable being still. Organizing reports helped clear her mind while still giving her something to do, the insanity calming in its own way. Meditation in motion.

Hack, of course, knew this. Everyone did. He waited for Koala to finish watering a group of snails and cleared his throat. “A moment of your time.”

He led her out of the report room and wove through the corridors of Baltago. When Koala asked where they were going she was met with impenetrable silence. Nerves slithered down her spine, leaving cold, heavy dread as it went.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have tried to take your focus off your mission. Whatever Dragon’s got planned, it’s more important than trying to teach me Fishman Karate.”

“Dragon doesn’t have any plans for me,” Hack said. Was it her imagination, or did the words come out bitter.

“Then what—”

Koala, who hadn’t really been paying attention to this point where they were going, froze as Hack threw open the doors to Dragon’s war room. A dozen pairs of eyes turned on her at once, but Koala scarcely noticed them.

Except for two. Dragon sat at the center of the room, mouth hidden behind interlocked hands. His dark, inscrutable gaze went right through her, making Koala instinctively straighten her spine and lower her eyes. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like thunder.

“I have a mission for you, should you choose to accept.”

Hack pulled out a chair for her to sit in, and Koala did her best to fit in with a room full of the Revolutionary Army’s top-ranking officers. From the corner of the room she saw Sabo. He grinned maddly and gave her a thumbs up. Choking back a giggle that would have been highly inappropriate, she felt some of the tension bleed from her shoulders.

A soldier didn’t refuse orders from a superior officer. Koala knew even before Dragon opened his mouth that she would do whatever he had in store for her.

She just hoped she didn’t let him down in the process.


	2. The Belly of the Beast

Koala sat in the belly of a brigantine as a Grand Line storm raged overhead. She and two dozen other passengers had received sharp orders to stay belowdecks, confined to their cabins while waves and wind pitched the ship mercilessly. Already the woman who Koala shared a room with had lost her lunch, and there was little chance of conditions improving anytime soon. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, scarcely able to lift her head from between her legs. 

“First time sailing?” Koala asked. 

The woman shook her head no. She was at least fifteen years older than Koala, with wispy black hair and leathered brown skin. There was a haggard look about her that went beyond a little seasickness. 

“It might do you some good to get to a porthole,” Koala said. “Sometimes it helps to look at the horizon.”

Nimbly she jumped down from the bunk she was occupying, careful to give her cabinmate a wide berth. Their room was cramped, and in two paces she’d made it to the door. Koala took a moment to listen, but she heard nothing but the groans of the ship and the occasional crack of thunder. Judging it safe, she went to open the door…

...only to find it locked. 

Koala glanced behind her, but the woman was still huddled in a ball, the occasional keening noise escaping from the back of her throat. Koala wiped her hands against her pants, trying to rid herself of the clammy feeling there. 

“On second thought, maybe it’d be best just to stay where we are,” Koala said cheerfully. “I’m sorry, I didn’t pack away anything to help settle your stomach. They should bring supper ‘round in a couple hours, after the storm clears.”

“I don’t need to be nursed by a little beggar brat that’s just left her mother’s teat!” the woman snapped. 

Koala didn’t know what to say to that, so she remained silent as she clambered slowly back into her bunk. She stretched out on her back, feet touching the metal bar at the foot of the hard, narrow bed despite her diminutive height. Lacing her fingers, she rested her hands on her belly and stared at the ceiling, riding out the pitches and jolts of the rough and miserable sea. 

She didn’t like that they’d been locked in their rooms. Koala was as unafraid of drowning as a human could possibly be, and figured in a pinch she’d probably be able to break down the door, but she doubted any of the other passengers were as lucky. If something were to happen to the ship they’d be trapped like rats. 

It confirmed what the Revolution had already thought to be true—they weren’t on a passenger ship at all. They were stuck in a prison.

Below her, Koala heard a muffled sniffle. As quietly as she could, she rolled over to her side. The woman below her had not moved from her spot, but even as her head pressed to her knees, wild tangles of hair obscuring her face, Koala could see her shoulders shake with suppressed sobs. 

In one swift movement, Koala was by her side. She sat near the woman, close but not touching, and in a low voice said, “It’ll be okay. I’m sure the sailors are used to working in weather like this.”

“Are you  _ stupid? _ ” the woman said. “Don’t you know where we’re going?”

Koala shook her head, but realized the woman couldn’t see. “I don’t,” she confessed softly, the practiced lie slipping from her lips smooth as oil. “My parents...they got into debt with the wrong people. I didn’t even know because I was away at school.” Koala allowed a wobbly smile, surprised that she didn’t have to feign the expression. 

“They say if I work seven years I’ll be free,” Koala continued, probing gently at the secrets the Revolution was so desperate to know. Then, forcing a little more optimism into her voice, she said, “They said I might even learn skills that will help me when I’m out. I was already training to be a secretary, this is just...a little practical experience, that’s all.”

“Your parents did you wrong, girl,” the woman said, her voice raspy and haunted. “There’s no return ship coming for any of us, no matter how many years you put in. None of us is coming back from this, and that’s that.”

“How do you know?” Koala asked. “How can you be sure?”

The woman let out a harsh, barking laugh. She lifted her head for the first time, brown eyes hollow and dead. “Because, girl, I just came from there. I escaped once. They won’t let me do it again.”

* * *

It was a well-known fact to anyone who bothered to pay attention that the World Government had labor camps set up all over the world. These gulags were usually populated with petty criminals, political dissidents, and slaves—the type of people who could do the work and didn’t pose the physical threat of pirates or Revolutionaries. 

Over the years the Revolutionary Army had sussed out the location of most of these camps, but a few remained hidden, the World Government using a combination of money and intimidation to keep the world’s newspapers from exposing them to the general public. But there weren’t a weapon strong enough to kill a rumor, and nothing traveled as well as a good story. The most notorious rumors spoke of the mythic Isle of Jove, a place so shrouded in mystery that the Revolution wasn’t even sure it existed until field agents received a distress call they were able to triangulate to a location that, according to official maps, was nothing but a bit of sea.

The message was garbled and encrypted with an outdated Revolutionary code. Cautious minds in Dragon’s war chamber feared a trap, but the contents of the message—and the oddness surrounding its existence—convinced most that it was the real deal. Koala herself would have felt more confident if they had gotten a clearer signal, but the two words that had come through clearest made her heart ache with hope:  _ Jove _ , and  _ Lindbergh _ .

At last, the Revolution had found its missing munitions expert. 

* * *

Koala closed her eyes and made herself take deep, calming breaths. There was a part of her that couldn’t believe she would be the Revolution’s vanguard force, the first wave in an absolutely vital mission. The usual tingle of nerves was exacerbated into restlessness that was hard to contain. Koala wanted to move, to  _ act.  _

Instead she was riding out a proper Grand Line storm while locked in a tiny room that smelled of vomit.

Further inquiries with her cabinmate were quickly shut down. The most Koala got out of her was a name, and even that was like pulling teeth. Her companion’s name was Alicia Grevers, and once the second round of dry heaves began, Koala decided the last thing she needed was to be pestered by questions she obviously did not want to answer. 

The storm abated sometime after dark. Koala only knew because she heard the sailor (or was it guardsman?) who thrust them their dinners mention it before slamming the door in their faces once more, cutting off Koala’s question for a damp rag for Alicia to wipe her face with. 

There wasn’t enough room to even pace, so Koala retreated back to her bunk. With nothing to do but wait, boredom quickly joined her anxiety. The two made for poor traveling companions, and she had to fight against the urge to fidget, a sick feeling churning in her stomach that had nothing to do with the sea.

And with the anxiety came memories. Koala recalled little of her journey to Mariejois, all those years ago. In fact, there were great stretches of her childhood that she couldn’t remember at all. She’d been so young and so frightened that her mind erased the experience as a means of self-preservation. What she could remember was horrific enough, and as they sailed flashes of memory exploded against the back of her eyelids, snippets and pieces of a greater whole that had been lost to time. She remembered being huddled in the bowels of a ship, bigger and more terrifying than this, humans pressed so closely together they could scarcely breathe. 

In comparison, Koala’s trip to the Isle of Jove was a pleasure cruise, but the knowledge that she was confined, that she was  _ trapped,  _ triggered something deep and primal. Something that desperately wanted  _ out.  _

Koala’s mouth went dry. They hadn’t been given enough water with their meager supper. She felt her heart tremble and breath hitch, the weight of her own past threatening to crush her. 

_ You aren’t the same as you were then. You’re free, and you can fight.  _

The voice, cool and calming, washed over her. Koala took a deep breath, focusing on the simple action, and repeated the mantra in her mind until its smothered the memories into retreating from the dark pit of her subconscious they’d emerged from. She made herself feel the rocking of the boat, taking comfort in the fact she was at sea. All her best memories came on the water. To be out on the ocean was to be free. It didn’t matter that Koala was locked in a room and headed toward a prison— _ she was free.  _

Instinctively Koala extended her senses trying to feel the sea. She couldn’t, of course. She’d never learned the trick to it, and according to Hack she never would. But she could feel the motion of the waves, could smell the brine of the sea, and she knew. She knew she was safe. 

Koala’s racing heart slowed, a cleansing stillness washing over her. And from the bunk below, Alicia Gervers continued to sob. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all. Hope you’re doing well. I wanted to apologize for the short chapter—I don’t usually like posting less than 2000 words unless it’s a one shot or a drabble series, but with all the craziness going on it’s both very difficult and very therapeutic to write, which is just as frustrating as it sounds. Maybe shorter chapters means more frequent update? I don’t know. 
> 
> Anyways, I’m obviously taking some liberties here Since this is taking place in the past I’m going to say Lindbergh isn’t a commander yet. Really, I just wanted a canon character for Koala to rescue, and there aren’t very many named Revolutionaries to pick from.


End file.
